


Chance

by shrala



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:17:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrala/pseuds/shrala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Phil’s fingers clenched around the phone his eyes dropping closed as memories surged forth, not realizing how much he’d missed this voice.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [out_there](https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/gifts).



Phil knew that he shouldn’t be alive, that he’d been right and truly dead for so much longer than the eight seconds that the doctors and his medical records claimed. However strong his trust in S.H.I.E.L.D. was, he knew more than most how they actually functioned, that whatever their reasons were for bringing him back were, they felt they were important. Still he couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, couldn’t help but wonder if there was a failsafe or if this was a temporary thing, an experiment that could end at any moment. 

When Director Fury had offered him a team of his own choosing, Phil had taken it as the second chance it was. Of course, when Fury had said of his own choosing, what he’d really meant was anyone not involved with the Avengers Initiative. No Romanoff. No Barton. 

“It’s better this way,” Fury had said. “They’ve moved on, have a new handler, new assignments. They have no need for ghosts.”

Phil didn’t think that Fury meant it the way it sounded, but it hurt, and he knew this was not a fight he could win. They’d find out eventually, he knew. Even with orders to stay away from the Avengers Initiative, he knew that their paths would likely cross sooner or later with the way things were going now. 

Fury had said no contact, but there were other ways to check in on his former agents. It didn’t take him long to find their new handler: Bernard Krad. Phil lips curled in distaste. He knew that neither agent would like the man, his head far too big. A few minutes later he located the files on their missions since his apparent “death”. The files were surprisingly unmarked, the missions far below the skill set of either agent. Romanoff especially was likely crawling the walls. 

A quick scan of their access cards showed that Romanoff was spending extra time swimming, while Barton was spending extra time at the range. A frown crossed his face as he realized that it wasn’t just extra time, but nearly all his time on base while not sleeping had him clocked into either the gym or range. He hadn’t left the base outside of a mission in months.

Not since Phil’s death. 

Phil’s chest went tight in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. He wasn’t a man of regrets; he couldn’t be and do the job that he did. But if he was ever going to have one of them, this would be it. In the months prior to his death, he’d slowly grown closer to Barton, to Clint, closer than any handler should be with his agents. Even if it wasn’t so uncommon, it has a line that he had always been careful not to cross, having seen the negative impact such attachments could create. However, Phil knew his relationships with his agents were someone unprecedented: he always strove for a true friendship; they needed to trust each other, and sometimes cool professionalism couldn’t breed that.

Things changed right around the time that Thor dropped in on them. Phil hadn’t meant for their trip to the symphony to be a date, certainly hadn’t intended it to be one as it was no different than any other thing they’d gone out and done together. Romanoff hadn’t been with them that time, but it was far from the first time they’d gone out alone together. Truly Phil had never let himself go down that road of thought, but when Clint pushed him up against the door after accepting Phil’s offer for a drink, he certainly was thinking about it then, thinking about it a lot and definitely enjoying it. 

In the two months that followed, they’d grown close, closer than he should have allowed and far more indiscreet than he’d thought they’d been, if Fury’s comment to take care was any indication. His death had brought an end to it. 

Phil couldn’t have the team he wanted, so he created the next best thing. Everyone said he was destined to fail, that it could never work. Even Fury had seemed hesitant in giving his final approval. No one expected Phil’s choices, didn’t understand why he didn’t choose the best of the best, those long proven, but he had his reasons. All of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s research said their team was bound to fall apart at the seams. Phil would prove them wrong. 

Melinda May was what he could have become if he hadn’t had Hill to drag him out of his funk. Grant Ward was who he once was before Phil learned that it wasn’t weakness to depend on a team. Melinda and Grant were good for each other. Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons were both untested, fresh from the Academy and brilliant. They would have been locked away in some lab, their brilliance wasted and left to slowly fade. Phil couldn’t allow that. Skye’s addition to the team certainly hadn’t been planned, but Phil felt that she could keep them grounded. Working with S.H.I.E.L.D., it was sometimes easy to get lost in the shades of gray that they occupied, far too easy to cross the line without realizing it.

Clint had never stepped foot on the plane, but Phil kept expecting to see him behind every corner, kept expecting to wake up with him in his arms (despite how rare an occurrence that had been). It was almost torture. 

Pouring himself a finger of bourbon, Phil tugged at his tie and dropped into his chair. With the seemingly final destruction of Project Centipede and the people behind it, Phil felt that he could finally relax. With his kidnapping, he’d found more questions than answers, but he’d long ago accepted that there was some things that he was better off not knowing, some things that he did not want to know. This was one of them, especially if it could sent a terrorist organization after him.

When his phone beeped, Phil considered ignoring it for once. He felt he deserved a vacation after the week he’d had. A second beep had Phil reaching into his pocket to read the messages with a sigh. 

_I know you’re alive._

_Call me._

It wasn’t a number that Phil recognized, not S.H.I.E.L.D. in origin but it was secure. 

Phil knew he shouldn’t. His phone beeped again.

_Please._

Phil dialed the number, bringing the phone up to his ear. It didn’t even ring once before it was answered.

There was a long moment of silence, a ragged intake of breath, then, “Phil.”

Phil’s fingers clenched around the phone his eyes dropping closed as memories surged forth, not realizing how much he’d missed this voice.

“Clint.”


End file.
